


Every bridge requires one

by Planar_Snap



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 01:34:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20037709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Planar_Snap/pseuds/Planar_Snap
Summary: Georgie gets mad, gives herself an angry teenage girl haircut and then gets more mad.Mature due to language and implies dark themes.





	Every bridge requires one

She traced the curvature of the dagger with a finger, tucking it between nailing and finger as if she were using it to clean under her nail. 

It was a craft piece, a vanity, the practicality of it as a stealth weapon useless. But fuck was it pretty, and about to be very very useful. She met her own gaze in its reflection.

“I name you Toll.” She half whispered, as a finger was pierced by its end, an act she was familiar with as a coat for her magic, caused blood to well around the point. Tracing the finger down the blade she wrote it’s new name in blood on one side in Elven and her own on the other.

“I name you Toll.” She whispered again.

This ritual was one handed to her from mentor to student. Something she’d done to her viol as well. She’d been taught to use it on both weapons and instruments that one depended on, made their living from and with. It contained no Magics she was aware of, but felt that things with names belonged. They had a purpose and a history whether it be rooted in the past or yet to be forged. 

Contemplation aside, she laid the dagger in her lap. Georgie rolled out the two leather strips sewn together that made her toolkit, picks, prys, levers and all other assorted tools. Her fingers plucked from it the mirror, she took the device and screwed to it an extension rod.

Once in place, she wedged the rod in a crack in the wall. Placing it there she turned her head from side to side seeing what field of view it provided. Satisfied she reached down with her striking hand, fingers grasping the leather haft of the dagger, her other hand reached up tugging the mane of pine blonde hair into a ponytail.

Then in a quick deft flick of her wrist Toll sliced through the base of the ponytail. Nine inches of hair falling away to floor. 

Placing Toll back in her lap she drew her usual knife. Gripping it’s once white, now stained leather wrapped handle in her hand Georgie turned her head and started lifting and cutting at strands and tuftstuffs of hair. Her tongue peaking through her lips in concentration. 

After near a half hour she ran a hand through the short near pixie style cut, or as close as she could approximate with an assassination knife and mirror about a quarter of the size she needed. 

The points of her ears and six small stud piercings that ran down each now fully visible for the world to see. She looked around at her friends. To Krog, the big oaf. Whichever Of the two inhabitants of the vessel currently occupied it while it slept, part of her mused she oddly preferred Shádrahfah to Dennis. The “being” was more fun.

Rhysr she missed, but the Goliath has felt his call and that was that. The Elven Druid they had met was nowhere in the cave to be seen. As she rose she eyed the other two on the faron far side.

Blacktooth curled by the fire, he....She didn’t get him. There was an enigma there that she didn’t quite penetrate. 

Then there was Shasta. Of them all Shasta was the one she wouldn’t walk the line for. That bothered her but the fiendkin was so contrary at times. There was insight and for certain a fire, but it was one lost to the winds of decision at the best of times. 

Plus there was the casual eating of people, granted she’d only seen it once. But it still....irked her. 

Georgie shook her head and felt the air brush the freshly shaved sides and her ears. A feeling she hadn’t had since her earliest years of trailing with a viol. Reaching back she gathered up the shorn hair, though there seemed less than she thought there would be, and stuffed it into a pocket on her pack next to her magic components 

The half elf’s hand stayed there a moment, fingers brushing the clasp before they drifted over to the main portion of the pack. Diving inside the fingers quickly found their targets. She snatched the two medallions up and withdrew them. 

Rising and turning on her heel, her feet made a silent but rapid exit, through the covered ruins. Reaching the exit she slid through and out into the air. Breathing deeply letting the small spark of repressed rage within her flare, Georgie wasn’t entirely sure who she was most angry at herself or the keykeepers.

Grasping first the emblem in her free hand, the one she’d been given as a gift she snarled under her breath.

“All i wanted was to give them hope...all I wanted was to be an inspirer, like the tales and songs, to help them find a home faster.”

She squeezed tighter knuckles whitening as she drew back her arm and then thrust it forward with a pitching the disk as hard as she could, it sailed through the air into the forest traveling father than she’d thought. 

“Curse you all, everyone who’s ever been a keykeeper.” She growled out, staring down at Dorian’s medallion. 

“Curse and fuck you too. I hope you rot in whatever layer of hell you find yourself on you childslaving worthless murdering excuse for a person.”

She breathed deeper, unaware her breath had been ripping out in rags faster and faster as if she’d been running. “I’ll get them home you know, I’ll get them back however I can, I’ve failed twice I can’t let them down again no matter the cost.” She drew back her arm again and let the medallion sore into the forest.


End file.
